Weevil Hunt
by Sherlock Emrys
Summary: Oneshot. Sam and Dean are on a regular hunt for something nasty, man-eating, and living in the sewers. Just a normal day for the Winchesters. Sam is attacked by the creatures and winds up at the mercy of some crazy British guy with one hell of an ego who calls himself the Master.


**AN: Whilst trying to beat writer's block, I decided to get some random prompts from a Random Pair Generator and do that. I think it's worked. This oneshot has no real ending and right now I have no plans at all to write one. It's not very good, either, sorry. No warnings, except for the fact that both Winchesters get beaten up again, but when do they not?**

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**VERSE: SuperWho**

**PROMPT: Sam Winchester / The Master / Weevils**

**CHARACTERS: Sam, Dean, the Master, Weevils**

**RATING: K+**

Some days, Sam reflected, he really hated their life. In fact, _most_ days he really hated their life. The days when he or his brother were held captive, seriously injured, cursed, haunted, otherwise inconvenienced, or forced to do something against their will. Which amounted to almost every day.

One of the things that he hated _most_, though, was definitely climbing through sewers trying to find nasty man-eating monsters with bad breath.

Guess what they were doing today?

Five teenagers had gone missing around the area, and the two sole witnesses had described something vaguely humanoid with weird, wrinkled skin and sharp teeth. It sounded like a troll, although you could never be sure- it could just be a homicidal tramp.

Nonetheless, here they were, sneaking though a filthy, dark, cramped sewer which smelt like- well- a sewer, guns drawn, waiting for something nasty to try and eat them.

Dean, ahead of him, reached a turning and paused for a moment, checking his gun before sweeping the beam of the flashlight around the corner and checking the tunnel ahead.

'Anything?' Sam whispered.

'Nope,' his brother replied.

And that, of course, was the moment that the thing jumped out from behind them and grabbed Sam.

Dean was knocked unconscious by the troll before he could get a clear shot in, and Sam was already out of it by the time the thing started to drag him back to its lair.

Dean came to lying on his side in what he'd prefer to think of as water, head pounding and a distinct sense of unease. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, performing a quick systems check. Arms, legs, head- hurt like hell but it was there. He still had his gun and he couldn't hear anything so he cracked his eyes open.

Totally dark. Why was that? Oh, yeah. They were underground. He flicked on the flashlight and sat up, trying not to look at what he'd been lying in. The sewer pipe was empty. That wasn't good. That was bad. There should be someone else here.

Dean's battered brain finally put it together and he leapt to his feet. 'Sammy!' he yelled out in a hoarse whisper.

No reply. He picked up his gun, which appeared to be none the worse for its brief immersion, and headed down the pipe in search of his brother.

Sam woke up in much the same state as his brother. He was lying in a thankfully dry patch of pipe, but that wasn't all that much comfort given that his gun was gone and he appeared to have a large hole in his head.

He cracked open one eye and a dimly lit scene swam into view. He wished it hadn't.

The thing that had attacked him and Dean- whatever it was, it wasn't a troll, he could see now- was snuffling around the other end of the pipe. And it wasn't alone. There were several of the creatures, all shuffling around with a vaguely animalistic gait, huddling into the shadows.

The light appeared to be coming from a grating above them. Sam opened the other eye and tried to move his arms.

They were tied behind his back.

Sam slumped. Today just kept getting better. He hoped Dean was OK, then dismissed the thought. Dean was always OK. It wasn't worth worrying about him because Dean never actually managed to get so badly injured he wouldn't come and find him. Sam carefully prevented his mind from treacherously remembering all the times when Dean _had_ been too badly injured to come get him.

'You awake?' said a voice behind Sam.

Sam instantly tensed, trying to move around and see who had spoken.

'Don't bother,' the voice advised. Male. British. Unfamiliar. 'I tied them myself. I wouldn't leave something like that to these… _creatures_.'

'Who are you?' Sam tried. His head still hurt. From the cool feeling on one cheek, he guessed he was bleeding. Probably a concussion.

Footsteps behind him. A pair of battered trainers came into his view, and the hem of a frayed pair of jeans. The man knelt down in front of him and Sam saw that he had bleach-blond hair, a black hoodie and a crazy smile. Really, worryingly crazy. The kind of smile that would set the world on fire, just to watch it burn.

'I,' said the crazy British guy, 'am the Master.'

Sam let his head fall back to the concrete. Just great. Another egotistical psycho.

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**AN: Yeah. If it was unclear, the things they're hunting turn out to be Weevils, and this is sometime post End of Time. How the Master is still alive is something I don't know and am not bothering to think through, which is one of the reasons why this has no ending. :)**


End file.
